


Pet Therapy

by Once_More_With_Feeling



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25955383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Once_More_With_Feeling/pseuds/Once_More_With_Feeling
Summary: Several residents of the abbey realize a visit with Tiaa might do Thomas some good. It takes a bit more work than expected to get her there.
Relationships: Mary Crawley & Robert Crawley, Thomas Barrow & Andy Parker, Thomas Barrow & Elsie Hughes, Thomas Barrow & Mary Crawley, Thomas Barrow & Phyllis Baxter, Thomas Barrow & Robert Crawley
Comments: 28
Kudos: 148





	Pet Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> For all the dog lovers out there.

**Monday, 22 June, 1925**

Tea is quiet that afternoon, just Mary and her father.

Quiet, that is, until the Earl of Grantham bursts forth with, “Barrow likes dogs.”

Mary shakes her head just a little, and returns her cup to its saucer. “What?” she asks.

Her father turns to her. “Doesn’t he?” he adds, rather than repeating his previous conjecture.

Mary tries not to shake her head again, fails, and answers finally, “I don’t know.” Some part of her, which has only been wakened recently, begs to understand whether she _ought_ to know if their under-butler likes dogs. But she has no answer for that question, either. So she looks blankly at her father, and waits for him to explain.

Instead, he turns to Tiaa, gnawing an old sock in her basket, and gives her a dopey smile. Before he can say anything, though, he seems to catch his delight a bit, and looks again at his daughter. He clears his throat, and says evenly, “He seemed fond of Isis. Cared about her, at least. He spent an entire night looking for her once, when she’d been lost.” Now he frowns. “I don’t know if he feels the same about Tiaa, but…” He looks at the dog again, and his silliness comes spilling out once more. “But everybody loves you, don’t they?” he says to his puppy, in a ridiculous and infantile voice.

As if on cue, Tiaa stops chewing for a second or two, and gives her master a grunt of approval. Then she returns to her sock.

Mary rolls her eyes. Why perfectly mature adults speak to children and animals this way, she’ll never know. She looks down at her tea now, and lets her mind wander upstairs to the attic, where Thomas still lies in bed, looked after by the other servants. The atmosphere at the abbey is slightly less morose now than it was last week; things are settled with Henry, and they will be married in five days. Tom and her parents have forgiven her for what she did to Edith (though that doesn’t mean Edith has). And Thomas is recovering, as the doctor promised he would. But still, his self-induced brush with death last week hangs in the air above them, and skulks in every corner. Perhaps the less they know how to talk about something, the more it refuses to be ignored.

“How should we arrange it, though?” her father asks, pulling her from her musings.

Has he been talking all this time? Possibly said something that makes this last remark sensible? She looks at him, lost. “I’m sorry, Papa,” she offers. “Arrange what?” she asks, a little abashed.

He gives her a look. “Really, Mary,” he begins. “How should we arrange a visit with Tiaa? For Barrow?”

_Oh. That’s a thought._

“I—well,” she stammers a little. “I suppose the best way would be to consult with Mrs. Hughes.”

Robert’s face brightens, and he sits up a little straighter. “That’s right, of course!” he says. “Barrow trusts Mrs. Hughes,” he says, while his posture crumples again. “Doesn’t he?” he adds weakly.

Mary swallows. She hates to say, “I don’t know,” again, so she remains silent, but nods, and stands from the sofa, to pull the cord near the fireplace.

***

When the library bell rings downstairs, the butler is the first to answer it. Normally he would preside over their tea, but they remain rather short-staffed, with Mr. Barrow still in bed, and it’s only His Lordship and Lady Mary taking tea today.

Mrs. Hughes is still surprised, however, when Mr. Carson returns to the basement, seemingly less than a minute after being summoned. She stands at the bottom of the stairs, and gives her husband a questioning look.

He raises his eyebrows in return, and says, “It’s you they want.”

“Me?” she returns. “During tea? Whatever for?”

Mr. Carson lifts his hands, and shakes his head. “I’ve no idea, and I certainly didn’t want to pry. But His Lordship and Lady Mary have asked to speak with you.”

Mrs. Hughes can’t help but give a little snort. “Well,” she says. “Maybe they want me to join them for tea,” she offers. Lord knows stranger things have happened in this house.

The thought of housekeepers and peers mingling over tea is clearly, however, not one that amuses her husband in the slightest. He puffs up a bit, and scoffs, “I doubt that very much.”

“Don’t worry, Charlie,” she says as she sweeps past him and up the stairs. “If they offer me anything, I promise I’ll never go so far as to sit down.”

***

His Lordship and Lady Mary do not, of course, offer their housekeeper any tea. But they put down their cups when she enters the room, closing the door gently behind her. She walks toward them and stands a deferential distance away, her hands clasped at her waist. She looks to Lady Mary first, expecting her to begin, but she is oddly silent.

Lord Grantham looks at his daughter as well, then draws a deep breath, and turns to the housekeeper. “This is about Barrow, Mrs. Hughes,” he says softly.

Oh, dear. Perhaps they had expected him to be back to work by now. She hopes she can convince them that this is not possible. She opens her mouth to begin to defend him, but Lord Grantham carries on.

“Do you know if Barrow enjoys dogs?” he asks.

Of all the things in this world… Dogs? She shakes her head, and forces herself to look him in the eye. “Dogs, milord?”

Something of a smile begins to rise up in his face. “Yes,” he says, and nods to the puppy next to him. “Dogs. Does he like them?”

“Er…” she stammers. Then she finds the word she is looking for: “Yes,” she says.

His Lordship brightens. “Good,” he says.

She can’t help herself. “Is it, milord?” she asks.

He nearly laughs, hopefully at himself. “I hope so,” he says kindly.

“We were wondering, Mrs. Hughes,” Lady Mary adds, “If you thought he might enjoy a little visit with Tiaa.”

Ah. Things are starting to make a little sense now.

“I see,” she says.

“Only,” Lord Grantham starts again, then laughs outright. “We can’t exactly carry her up there ourselves!”

Mrs. Hughes bites her bottom lip. When she fails to return his laughter, His Lordship sobers himself.

“What we mean is,” he continues in a softer voice. “We would like him to have a visit with Tiaa, if it would be a comfort to him, but we don’t wish to infringe on his privacy. Do you know who might best take her up to the attics?”

Mrs. Hughes doesn’t think she can name a person in this house incapable of carrying a puppy up a few flights, but she keeps this to herself. Instead she simply says, “I think Andrew could do it, easily enough. I’ll go down and see if he’s free, and then go up to the attic with him, to make sure Thomas—Mr. Barrow—is ready.”

“Very good,” Lady Mary says, before her father can agree. “Thank you, Mrs. Hughes.”

***

Andrew appears a bit surprised when the housekeeper comes downstairs, and asks him to take a break from polishing the silver, so that he can carry His Lordship’s puppy up to Thomas’ room, but he comes round to the idea quickly enough. Indeed, stranger things have happened in this house, and plenty of them inside the short time Andy has been in its employ.

Within a few minutes, Andy and Mrs. Hughes stand outside Thomas’ door, Tiaa tucked inside her basket in Andy’s arms. Mrs. Hughes raises her hand and knocks on the door, then enters the room, while Andy waits dutifully in the hallway.

Thomas is lying in his bed, curled on his side, a mess of blankets over and around him. His eyes are open, which might be a good sign. Miss Baxter sits in a chair next to him, with a book open in her lap; she must have been reading to him again—an activity that, for the last several days, has helped to lull Thomas into a state of mildly affable confusion, if only as to why these people are watching over and caring for him in this manner. Which is an improvement over his previous tendency to bouts of inconsolable crying, whenever he is awake.

Mrs. Hughes shuts the door quietly behind herself, and approaches his bed. Miss Baxter stands from her chair, and steps away a bit, so Mrs. Hughes can lean down over Thomas, and stroke his face with her soft hand.

“Thomas,” she begins gently. He rolls onto his back, and looks at her, his eyes still confused, but resigned to her touch. “You have a visitor,” she says.

“What?” he asks, then glances at Miss Baxter, who apparently tries to hide her own confusion with an encouraging smile. He looks back at Mrs. Hughes, then says, “No. I don’t want to… No.”

“Thomas,” she says again, a bit more firmly this time. “I promise this is someone you’ll want to see. And I think you should sit up a bit.”

Thomas does not answer, but whimpers a little, as she sits next to him, and leans down fully to pull him into her arms. Then she sits up again, bringing him with her. She holds him upright, and turns to Miss Baxter, saying, “Would you please get Mr. Barrow a few more pillows?”

She rubs his back through his wrinkled pajama top, as Miss Baxter complies, taking extra pillows from the armchair in the corner, and stacking them in front of Thomas’ headboard. When at least six pillows are in place, the housekeeper leans forward, until he rests in the small pile. Then she lets go of him. When he is settled with his blankets pulled smoothly up to his waist, with his arms resting at his sides, she returns to the door and opens it. “You can come in now,” she says to the guest in the corridor. 

***

Thomas is relieved to find that the guest is Andy. If he had the energy, he might also be surprised; why would Mrs. Hughes make such a fuss about Andy coming to see him? He’s been in this room dozens of times since… well. Thursday.

But there is something different. Perhaps that’s why all the fuss. Andy is carrying a basket, and it seems that whatever is in the basket is moving. Then Whatever is in the Basket jumps out, and lands on Thomas’ bed. Thomas brings his hands to his chest, startled. But then he stops; he is curious now.

It is Tiaa. Thomas drops his shoulders, lowers his hands, and nearly reaches for her, but she is suddenly gone. She leaps to the floor, then wriggles under the bed, her over-sized hind paws sticking out for everyone to see. Mrs. Hughes and Miss Baxter seem to come to their senses at the same moment, and both make a grab for her. They miss her by inches; Tiaa manages to burrow further beneath the bed, and both women straighten up, and look at each other, bewildered.

Andy continues to stand, dumbfounded at the foot of the bed, holding the basket.

Suddenly the puppy pops out from the far side of Thomas’ bed, and he leans to his left to look at her. She looks up at him, cocks her head to one side, and then dives back under the bed, just as Mrs. Hughes comes around it and makes another grab for her.

“Miss Baxter!” the housekeeper shouts. “Get her on the other side!” she yelps from where she kneels on the floor.

Miss Baxter springs into action, and rushes to Mrs. Hughes’ side of the bed, practically shoving Andy out of the way as she goes. Andy lifts the basket over his head, as if to protect it.

Now Tiaa shoots out from under the bed, on Thomas’ right side, tangling herself with Miss Baxter’s empty chair.

“What are you doing over here?” Mrs. Hughes demands, and if Thomas is not mistaken, Phyllis looks rather taken aback.

“You said to go to the other side,” Miss Baxter answers. “I thought you meant—”

“No!” Mrs. Hughes shouts, as she attempts to push a piece of her mussed hair back into place. “The _other_ side!” she repeats, this time pointing to the now vacant place to Thomas’ right.

“Oh,” Miss Baxter murmurs, appearing a little lost for a second. But then she hurries back to where she started, and makes a grab for the chair; she is too late, however, and Tiaa sends it clattering to the floor.

Everyone seems to lose track of the dog for a second or two, as they watch Miss Baxter try not to trip on the toppled chair. She ends up straddling it, with her arms out to her sides, as if for balance. Unfortunately, one of her hands comes in contact with the lamp on Thomas’ bedside table, and it crashes to the floor as well.

At this point, Thomas would not be entirely surprised to see a wayward wagon wheel roll through the room.

“Andrew!” Mrs. Hughes yells.

Suddenly Andy seems to come out of his stupor, and looks at the housekeeper. “It’s not my fault!” he yells.

“This is no time for pointing fingers!” Mrs. Hughes shouts, as she points to the space under Thomas’ desk, where the puppy has begun to cower. “Get her!”

“Oh, right,” Andy says with a slight shake of his head. He drops the basket, and dives under the desk. Seconds later, he emerges with the wriggling puppy in his hands. For some reason, he tosses her like a hot potato in Miss Baxter’s direction. The lady’s maid, who is still trying to recover herself from the tangle with the fallen chair, instinctively reaches out, and ends up with a now rather snarly four-legged companion in her small hands.

It is at this precise moment that Thomas somehow recalls that Phyllis is not exactly a dog person.

Miss Baxter holds Tiaa as far from herself as humanly possible, turning her face away, as if in horror. “What do I do with her?” she shrieks.

“Give her to Thomas!” Mrs. Hughes yells back. “That’s why she’s here!”

Miss Baxter lowers her arms, but manages to maintain her hold on the writhing animal. “Are you serious?” she asks, in a low voice.

Then suddenly, a snort of immoderate mirth stops everyone in the room. Everyone, that is, except Tiaa. All three other humans present turn to Thomas, and after a few seconds, he realizes that the unexpected sound was not only laughter, but that it came from him.

“Did you just…?” Andy begins, but does not finish.

Thomas’ eyes widen. Indignant, he answers, “Well, look at the sight of you! It’s hard not to laugh, from where I’m sitting.”

Then he reaches out for Tiaa, with both bandaged hands.

Miss Baxter is all too happy to let her go, and releases the puppy into Thomas’ lap. As he cradles her in his arms, Phyllis finally extricates herself completely from the fallen chair, and Andy moves to her side to pick it up and right it. Mrs. Hughes straightens her dress, and presses her lips together, suppressing a smile. Andy and Phyllis both bring their hands to their mouths. They turn toward each other, but clearly do not dare look each other in the eye, lest they both start giggling uncontrollably.

But then Thomas snorts again, as Tiaa climbs up his chest, and begins licking his face, and the battle is lost. Suitable or not, everyone in the room laughs outright.

Once Tiaa has finished thoroughly cleaning Mr. Barrow’s face, she settles herself in his arms, and closes her eyes. Thomas pulls her closer, and glances up for a second at Phyllis. “Can you help me…?” he begins. “Pull the blankets up around her.”

Miss Baxter and Mrs. Hughes step toward the bed, and draw the covers up, tucking them around the puppy, and around Thomas, too. He settles back into his pillows, and brings a hand to the top of Tiaa’s head, stroking her soft fur.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “That’s a good girl…”

Perhaps because everyone has already had a laugh at what it took for Thomas and Tiaa to come together this way, it seems alright to smile now. And so they do—first at each other, and then at Thomas, though he does not see them. For his eyes are focused on the warm puppy in his arms, and for the first time in months, he thinks that maybe it’s alright to smile, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first half of this one about six months ago, then realized it was headed in the direction of Some Characters Make a Plan, then They Do the Plan, and the Plan Works. While the subject matter may be cute, I didn’t think that made for very interesting reading. I revisited it last week, and had the idea that maybe Some Characters Make a Plan, then They Do the Plan, but the Plan is a Disaster (and yet the Plan brings about more of the desired result than previously thought) might work. I’m hoping it makes for a nice little look at that first moment when a person laughs, after a tragedy.


End file.
